


Specimen 049

by Safetypants (Dangersocks)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blindfolds, Bondage, Chair Bondage, F/F, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Leather Kink, Nipple Clamps, Non-Consensual Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Peril, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Apocalypse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Science Experiments, Threats, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Safetypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark fem-slash, PWP commission:</p><p>Civilization is gone, leaving a few mad individuals to have their way with anything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Specimen 049

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: This is dark smut and could be triggering. If non-consensual fiction is not for you, it is recommended that you stop reading.**
> 
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> This is from a series of text messages exchanged with a certain lady. Personally, it's very strange to share, since until very recently it would have been _impossible_ for this author to talk about certain kinks, let alone write them where others could see. These are particularly dark, but as they fascinate the lady and I, perhaps they will fascinate others too.
> 
> Please read responsibly.

The landscape never ceases to be alien. The things that move never turn out to be friendly. She eases over a border of debris and thinks that she is aware enough not to be seen before she first sees anyone else. She is too young to understand cameras, though. Having never been caught before, she trusts herself and her habits. Even now, she thinks she is safe in this territory that no one enters. 

 

Good. 

 

That is good.

 

Survivors survive by being clever. And clever is often predictable. The best shelter available is already bugged. It can also be deviously trapped. 

 

"Specimen 049," murmurs a female observer. "Welcome to my web..."

 

-

 

She wakes up blind. She wakes up seated. She wakes up feeling clean, which is strange and wrong. The familiar weight of her clothes are absent and as she shifts, she finds herself bound. A metal chair. Something like leather keeps her wrists behind her and her chest out. Her breasts are clothed in some kind of fixture. She's never had a bra but this feels like it fits the description. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the fixture she is affixed to, and she is left feeling open with her thighs apart. They are covered, but she does not know in what. Her salvaged denim is gone. The new material clings to her, perhaps leather as well. 

 

Leather is a rare thing, unless it is made of human skin. This feels thicker, though. She tries not to think about it being anything but animal...

 

She swallows. She listens. There must be walls, for her breathing is sound that warps off of some close surface. She dares not speak out yet, aware that context will determine the best course of action. She will do what she must to survive, although she does not recall any of the details that would have brought her to this point. She tries to keep herself from panicking by remembering the circumstances leading to now.

 

The plan ends abruptly as a door swings open, creaking behind her. She goes rigid. 

 

Footsteps. A single person, moving casually. A tinkle of sound that is out of place startles her. Then silence leaves her tense, waiting.

 

She feels eyes, but by turning her neck she cannot place the source. There is a cover tightly wound about her head. 

 

When nothing happens and a moment draws into an unbearable, unknown length of time, she hisses, "Who is there? What do you wa --"

 

The desperate demand is cut short by a collar being slipped around her neck -- leather and bells. She flinches away, feeling a cold touch of gloves that keep connected with her, buckling the item shut with minor adjustments despite her pulling. Each adjustment makes the decorative bells jingle slightly. She tightens her throat against the attack, hunching shoulders and trying to keep her airway preserved. She expects to suffocate, but as the hands disappear again into the unknown, she finds that she can breathe. The collar is snug, constantly reminding her of its embrace. The cold, metal balls of the bells slide against their traps. With each movement she hates them.

 

"Subject, You will call me Doctor. Do you understand?" The speaker is female, and to punctuate the point, something tugs at the back of the collar. It strangles its captive for a long, two-second count. The bells sing and a warm voice finds an ear, adding, "You wandered into my territory and I have just run out of test subjects. I need you."

 

A sound escapes the tight tug, almost a whine. The answer isn't a confirmation of any understanding. It is confusion at the stars that come out, even behind the blindfold. She thrashes, chest tight and knees only able to open wider. The bonds do not loosen. 

 

The pressure releases. A door shuts loudly. She is left twitching and panting in the uncomfortable posture she has created for herself. She is hopefully alone.

 

-

 

Minutes, hours, or days? She has not slept, she is certain. But she is not aching for thirst, nor hungry. She is almost always hungry, but not here. She does not need to relieve herself either, which is a blessing she cannot explain. She shifts in her chair. The movement does not trigger the loathsome noise of the collar. She is getting better at minimizing her actions to stay quiet, though she is always tempted to more aggressively test her bonds.

 

Prying and twisting, though, will adjust the fabric rubbing against her legs and she does not like the sensation. It is hot and it clings to her. The chest covering keeps her nipples contained, though they are hard. She has goosebumps, but she does not think it is because the room is getting colder. There are eyes watching her. They have not stopped watching her.

 

It is as she starts longing for something to change, that she feels a thing sliding along the fabric border protecting her breasts. She gasps, chest heaving as she waits for more. As she tenses. The door had not opened, nor had there been a body close to hers. 

 

A long-reach tool, then?

 

"Lovely," coos a disembodied voice. That same one from before. "You are very receptive. Most of the denizens here have nerve damage, I'm afraid. But you are intact. You may even feel things more acutely than others. I'm intrigued, and that makes you a perfect specimen."

 

"For what?" she whispers. 

 

"Oh, that would taint the results," tuts the observer. "I need you to react as you are. Is that fear in your voice?"

 

"No." It is obviously a lie, and that is answered by a smack to her thigh. It is light and does not penetrate the protection of the pants enough to cause any pain, though the suddenness makes her cry out. The bells jangle and she expects another strike. She waits to be yelled at or chastised.

 

Instead, the voice huffs, satisfied. "Very good. I could hit you again at any moment. Anywhere. And harder, or..." Something touches the inside of her other thigh, sliding in tight along the inseam. "I could just apply pressure here. A normal specimen would be stimulated..."

 

She tries not to squirm but it tickles. Worse, it  _does_  simulate. Before she can repress a whimper, something clamps over her right breast, squeezing flesh and fabric together with a pinch. This provokes her to pull her head back and hiccup a sound. The sudden, tightening hold ceases and she misses it immediately.

 

Behind her blindfold she clenches her eyes shut, bewildered at herself. 

 

"Was that good?" asks the stranger.

 

She locks her jaw, refusing to say anything. She hates how she wants to affirm the question. She's seen mind-games before on others, and asking for more will not necessarily mean she will receive it. Furthermore, this person is  _bad_  and has unknown intents. 

 

Her silence does not seem to trouble the other. Rather, there comes a liquid chuckle followed by a click. Then a distant, electric whir fills the room.

 

It reminds the captive immediately of the deadly, mechanical swarms that certain Barons keep to guard their territory. She's seen them recently as they butchered friendly rivals of hers. She knows her heart-rate quickens as the buzz approaches her. She has nowhere to run and her lip sucks into the security of her teeth as she trembles.

 

"Interesting," muses her captor. A vibrating item, long and metal, taps at a chin experimentally. It is not a hand-sized machine of floating, electric death. It is long and strange, setting her jaw chittering from its oscillation. It withdraws. In harmony with the ongoing purr of the item, the other says, "I debated on gagging you. There is something appealing with a survivor who understands dignity choking around a rubber gag. I design several kinds for different effects. The drool shining on lips and dripping cool onto your chest...but if you last, we can explore that later. For now, to observe your uninterrupted reactions is my primary goal."

 

With that stated, there comes a faint press of the mechanical vibrations against the crotch of the tight pants. This makes the captive react with a whine that could have been strangled through a gag. The sound repeats itself as the device is drawn away and subsequent writhing does nothing to facilitate the lost pressure to the region. 

 

"I am divided," explains the voice. "I could put this under you, a little more forcefully, perhaps. The chair will hold it nicely. Or, maybe I slide it _deeper_. Do you like sensations at your ass? Many male subjects do, but that does not necessarily make it an exclusive trait to that gender. I have other vibrators. Some will fit snugly in your bra. I created these and they will run for hours. They have adjustable settings via remote. Any thoughts?"

 

She pants, hips twitching. The bells chime and a clatter between her legs indicates that the item she wants is now resting, stranded on the chair. It is close but not useful. Then, a pair of fingers dip under her, firmly. They press where her nerves congregate and roll against the slick fabric covering her private hair.

 

"Not as damp as I expected." The statement comes with a slight sigh. "Oh, and I should warn you..."

 

The vibrator is brought back to her centre, left unmanned as it brushes steadfastly against the pants that stretch across her crotch. It teases, frustrating her as her keeper leaves to pick up something from what sounds like a table. Abandoned, she cants her hips forward. It makes the chair creak and her bells ring. Her focus on shamefully making contact to satisfy herself causes the sudden, cold press of steel against her ribs come as a surprise. 

 

"As I was saying, if you fail to serve in this experiment, I have other uses for subjects. There are always tests to determine how you survived for so long." The metal slides along her belly, tracing rather than the implied cutting. It is impossible to tell if the blade is sharp as it does not harm. The captive understands knives very keenly, though. Everyone has one, and most have used theirs within the last few weeks. This metal touch could even be from her own confiscated weapon. "I imagine you won't disappoint me, but if so, I'll be kind. We'll keep your clit warm while I make the incision. Open you up while you are filled with--"

 

She splutters on saliva as she shakes. The knife quickly pulls away, but a steady hand balances itself against her thigh.

 

"Did that...are you attracted to that suggestion?"

 

She shakes her head frantically. God, no! She _likes_ being alive. But the image of herself spread bare before this other -- pain and sweet pressure coiling at her waist as sterile fingers pick at and admire her insides. "I'm close," she squeaks.

 

A hand clutches at her scalp, clumping in her hair. "You're talking? Oh, feedback! You are a perfect subject, dear. Yes. What do you imagine?"

 

The other shifts, trading the vibrator from where it almost touches her groin, for the blade. It slides delicately and deliberately against the fabric so she has to thrust against her bonds to feel it touching her more sensitive parts. 

 

"I could pin you like a butterfly. You'll be my greatest study. I would put your heart in a jar and look at it daily. I could embalm your body and touch it wherever, but then you'd never make these lovely sounds. Do you know how much I like your mouth? I promise that I'll appreciate you. More than anything else in the world can appreciate you. And I will carve your insides free to keep you, before I ever let you go, okay?"

 

She nods, riding the flat of the metal against her crotch. It is obscene, the wriggles she makes to better feel it. Her captor is insane, and promising to own her. The other is offering to kill her later when they have exhausted in this experiment. And still, her captor is not moving the item. She herself is fucking it with her body. It is almost enough.

 

"Please," she keens. "Please, it's..."

 

There is an exhale. A breath that is both worshipful and pleased. Abruptly, the collar is snagged. Pulled back as if the rear of it were attached to a secret rope. It forces her head back and her airway to close. She fights against it, as teeth clamp against leather and skin on the inside of her leg. The flat of the knife twists and she blindly screams out as the collar relinquishes her voice. 

 

She climaxes as the metal, the handle, and a thumb snag against her hardened clit. Sparks fizzle in her head from returning oxygen. She slumps and faintly feels a body draped across her lap. Her captor breathes deeply, recording the scent of the outcome. Her leg is stroked and she is praised.

 

The perfect specimen. She is perfect. And all the things that will be done.

 

All the things...

 

She loses consciousness to that promise. The dark is safe and not nearly so appreciative.


End file.
